


Tender Is The Night

by lipeviez



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Miscommunication, Post-War, Romance, Tags to be added, Veela Mates, fleurmione endgame, seriously why don't they just talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez
Summary: In a bid to keep from breaking one person’s heart, Fleur does something drastic which prevents her from recognizing Hermione as her mate, but it doesn’t prevent the love that grows anyway. A night of passion leads to heartbreak and so much more, putting two brokenhearted women on separate paths that lead right back to each other.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 94
Kudos: 259





	1. Tender is the night

**Author's Note:**

> A version of this first chapter has existed since early last year and other ideas kept supplanting it so I kept putting it on the backburner. But I never stopped thinking about it. Unfortunately, I don’t know how often I’ll update given that I don’t have as much writing time anymore, but I do intend to finish this story. Subsequent chapters might not be as long as this one, but in terms of overall story length, I’m predicting under 10 chapters. Keep in mind, as always, this is subject to change, so it could be 2 chapters long or 15. I don’t know! Lol But the good news is the tag about fleurmione being endgame. So there. It’ll be an angsty and occasionally lighthearted journey to a happy ending. Because fleurmione deserves it.

Chapter 1

It was a cloudy night in late March and Fleur Delacour was furiously writing on a scroll of parchment. It was not really meant for anyone, not anymore. Over a dozen returned owls had made writing pointless but sometimes she just had to. It was a way to distract her mind, to distract her heart. To go over everything again in her head to sort out her pain and her guilt. Tonight, it was a distraction from this weight in her stomach that had been steadily growing all day. She was not even sure when it started but she felt something, a frayed wisp of connection. It was pain and worry but also excitement. And there was nothing she could do about it.

_Where are you? Ever since I realized what you were, what we were, I’ve waited and hoped you would return but you are still gone. No one knows where you are. You’ve made yourself untraceable and I can’t find you. And so I wait. But something is happening now. A change, and I don’t know what it is. It scares me. You’re scared. I can feel it. Faint but it’s still there. Like a lurking headache underneath the surface but there, waiting. I can walk around and function but when I still, when I let the quiet come, I feel it._

_Do you remember how it was at Hogwarts? How you hated me? I admit now that it was your hatred that drew me to you. Your scowl, how it adorable it was. Hermione Granger, fifteen years old, and I was enraptured._

_I watched you. In the Great Hall. In the corridors. In your beloved library. I saw how Krum watched you, too. I relished provoking you with my knowing smiles or my well-timed insults of your school. And it wasn’t until the Yule Ball that you sent me a knowing smile of your own, like you understood what I had been doing all along. It shocked me._

_That first kiss in the library after the holiday break shocked me, too. The tension and animosity between us came to a head in a private corner behind dusty bookshelves and you grabbed me. You ran before I could respond._

_But you found me again a couple of weeks later in a hallway and pulled me into an empty classroom. You yelled at me, accused me of using my thrall to seduce you, but when I pinned you against the wall and told you that my thrall wasn’t strong enough to overcome your will and stubbornness, you kissed me again. Your lips were heated, demanding, yet cautious. I tried to allay your worries by showing you that I indeed returned your desire. And how could I not? You, a beautiful creature, full of spark and intelligence, loyalty and bravery, were everything I could ever want. But we were still so young. And I was very much an idiot._

_Those first kisses were not accompanied by conversation but eventually we did share our inner selves. It wasn’t quite a friendship, we kept our meetings a secret from everyone, but I was drawn to you in a way I had never been before with anyone. Our dreams of the future, possible careers, girlish dreams we didn’t share with others, never voicing the knowledge that our futures likely didn’t coincide._

_And still our want for each other._

_I never spoke with you about what it was like being quarter Veela. How I had always been told that while I likely had a mate out there, due to the diluted blood it was possible I would not feel the connection as immediately and as strongly as a half or full Veela would. I took heart that some quarter Veela had been known to feel it like a thunderbolt, even those who were only an eighth or a sixteenth Veela, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I met my mate. I tempered my hopes for a thunderbolt and looked to the realistic situation of feeling a weaker connection, or worse, the possibility that I would not feel it at all, not until the bond had been sealed. My mother and grandmother also warned that it was possible for me to feel love for those who were not my destined. Not as complete and full as the love that would exist with my one but still a kind of love. Because of that I was very careful in my romantic entanglements. When I turned sixteen, I picked the most attractive boy who I had absolutely no feelings for. Then I picked the most attractive girl. Those romances were short-lived as I only wanted to know what it was like. I didn’t want to want anyone. I didn’t want to cause the pain that would surely happen if ever I did meet my mate while I was involved with someone else; I believed it unfair to whoever had become attached to me that I could just leave them behind as soon as my chosen appeared._

_So when I met you, I had experience in physical intimacy but no experience in the emotional kind._

_As the third task approached, I could feel our control slipping. Kissing had turned desperate. And then that night when I had snuck you into my room in the carriage. Our clothes stayed on and my hands stayed safely above your waistline, but that didn’t stop our legs from tangling on the bed, closer together than we’d ever been. The sweat on your brow, on your neck, the blush that I knew trailed down to your chest. The look on your face, I saw the beautiful woman you would one day become. I fought with myself, my selfish yearning to be your first in everything, to make you mine, and your eyes held a demand for me to do so. You wanted me to push you further and I nearly did. But when I saw your face flash into the girl that you still were, I knew that I could not._

_You were not ready. And I was not ready to be what you needed me to be. I was going to graduate soon, begin my life as an adult, and my mate was still out there as far as I knew at that time. You had three more years of schooling left. You deserved to grow into womanhood at your own pace. You deserved teenage fumbling with someone still in school with you, someone who would not leave you. Whatever we felt for each other, it was better for us to part before we went too far._

_As I said, I was an idiot._

_I blame our youth, my diluted blood, the tournament, everything around us for not recognizing what had grown between us._

_My inexperience led me to hurt you more than I intended when I broke it off. I didn’t know how to explain. I just said it wouldn’t work between us and that was that. I ignored you in the last weeks before the third task. I was horrible to you. You. My love._

_It is funny the way life likes to remind us that we’re not in control of things. I meant for us to be able to enjoy the freedom and frivolity of youth. You would have three years of schooling to grow and learn. I had plans to return to France, perhaps take one of the job offers I’d received from the French Ministry. Then the tournament ended as it did with Cedric dead and the return of Voldemort. Freedom and frivolity fell by the wayside as I committed myself to the fight. I left Hogwarts without giving you a proper goodbye. I blamed the ache I felt on mourning and on fear of the coming war. I refused to think that you were anything more than a dalliance._

_When I saw you again at Grimmauld Place and again at the Burrow, the distance and animosity between us had returned. And my idiocy had led me to do something of which I will forever be ashamed._

_Bill turned out to be a mistake but at the time he was what I needed. I thought I loved him but he was not my mate. Before he and I slept together I will admit that I held a small hope it was just my diluted blood hiding it from me and that he could still be my one. When the bond didn’t seal after our first time together, I knew it never would. But he didn’t care. He promised that he would step aside if I ever became aware of my chosen. But how could I do that to him? War was approaching, and that kind of fear heightens emotions, makes us want to seize whatever goodness stands in front of us and hold on tight. I was impulsive, I did something that led to everything else that has happened. I did it. You are not here with me because of it. I am a fool. A complete and utter fool._

_Where are you? Early on in your absence, I would sense your fear, which I assume came from nightmares, and the timing of it led me to believe you were in North America. Somewhere your parents would be comfortable. Canada? The U.S.? You haven’t had a nightmare in a few months so I can’t be sure anymore. Perhaps you’ve moved somewhere else._

_I cannot stand this. Surely someone knows. The Weasleys and the Ministry are no help. I’ve even gone to Harry, a person you once described as your brother, and he says he doesn’t know. Do you feel me at all? Have you felt it, too? I used to be glad that I was only quarter Veela, that my thrall wasn’t as strong as my mother’s and grandmother’s but now it means I am unable to use our connection to find you. You’re in pain. But I cannot go to my family with this, I cannot acknowledge my shame and failure._

Fleur threw down the quill in frustration and glanced at the clock. Whatever was happening with Hermione was escalating and it was driving her mad. She rolled up the scroll and threw it in her bag. Then she apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place and knocked on the front door.

Fortunately, Harry was home and he welcomed her inside, leading her into the parlor. From the open book on the sofa, and his robe over his sleep clothes, Fleur knew he had been reading just before heading up to bed.

“All right,” he said, “What’s going on?” Harry moved the book to one side and sat down. Fleur remained standing.

“She’s in trouble. I can feel it. You need to tell me where she is.”

Harry cocked his head and furrowed his brow.

“I’ve already told you. I don’t know where she is.”

“It is absurd. You are her best friend. She would not have left for these long months without telling you. I don’t believe you. Please, you must tell me. I feel her pain.”

“What kind of pain? What do you mean?”

Fleur scoffed and began pacing. “I don’t know how to describe it. But something is happening. There’s pain and worry. It’s intermittent. But the frequency is increasing. It has been growing all day.”

“And you feel it?”

She growled and nodded. Fleur didn’t want to have to explain it. To explain her idiocy and her connection to Hermione. Harry sat silently, watching her. She may have said too much or maybe he already knew. Harry was always smart.

“Wait here. There’s something I should have shown you that last time you asked me about her.”

Harry left the room and she heard him walk up the stairs. Fleur glanced around the room and went to sit at the small writing table in the corner. There was a quill and inkwell ready for use. Writing helped control her need for action so she brought out the scroll from her bag and began writing again.

_I am at Harry’s. He’s finally going to reveal whatever he knows. I hope it’s a way to find you. I need to find you. I need to make you understand, to throw myself at your mercy and beg for your forgiveness. For all of my failings. For how I behaved at Hogwarts. For not trying to mend a friendship when we had the chance at the Burrow. For ignoring how you had tried to talk to me the day before my wedding. For not recognizing what had happened between us at Shell Cottage. For taking that damned potion!_

When Harry came back into the parlor, he was holding a folded-up letter. She stood up and walked towards him. Fleur could see how he hesitated but then he handed it to her.

“I received this about two months after she left. It’s one of the reasons why I haven’t looked for her. I’ll give you a few minutes alone,” he said softly before walking out of the parlor.

Fleur walked to the sofa and sat down. Then she unfolded the letter.

_30 June 1998_

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am still in Australia but we’ll be leaving soon. I was able to restore my parents’ memories and while they don’t hate me for what I did, we have a long way to go before we can put it behind us._

_I’ve decided not to come back, Harry. My parents and I are going somewhere else and I don’t want anyone to find us. I need to reconnect with them. Spending holidays and parts of summers at the Burrow when I should’ve spent time with them, and hiding my magical life from them as much as I did, was all a mistake. They’re my family and we’ve missed out on so much with each other. I need to be with them now._

_So much has happened, so much pain and misery. My life has been in danger pretty much since the start of Hogwarts and while I don’t regret one moment of our friendship, or my part in bringing about the end of a terrible war, it’s time to find out what it means to be me and tread my own path. The nightmares aren’t as bad as they were but I just can’t deal with the magical world back home right now. Or maybe ever. Ron won’t understand but you do, don’t you? Help him and Ginny understand. You’re the only one getting a letter._

_Don’t look for me, please. And if anyone ever comes to you in private demanding that you tell them where I am, someone unexpected, show them this letter._

_This is the life I’ve chosen. I choose no other._

_Goodbye, Harry. I hope we’ll see each other again. I don’t know when, but someday._

_Your friend,_

_Hermione_

Fleur carefully folded up the letter and sat for a long time staring at the fire in the hearth. The hollow in her stomach grew larger as she thought on the two sentences about Hermione’s choice. She knew those had been meant for her.

She placed the letter down on the sofa and went back to the writing table.

_Harry showed me the letter. I don’t understand. I mean, I do know how you feel about starting over, about trying to recover some semblance of yourself after years of fighting and getting away from the media circus that surrounds Harry and Ron. I understand that._

_But leaving? Not enjoying this peace with those of us that support you? That I do not understand._

_Choosing a life without me?_

Fleur heard Harry walk back into the parlor. While she was writing, she heard him pick up the letter and put it in the pocket of his robe. She felt him stare at her, no doubt taking in her disheveled appearance, the bags under her eyes, her hair loose and wild. She heard him sit back down on the sofa. Ignoring him, she continued writing.

_I need you. I need you back. I need to tell you. You are my mate. I should’ve known that first year but I was so young and my grandmother had been right about the likelihood of my not being able to feel it that strongly. I felt an inexplicable pull to you but I had no idea that’s what it was._

_I wish I had._

_It would have stopped me from taking that potion. After I started dating Bill, and after I realized he wasn’t my one, I didn’t want to cause him pain. I didn’t even consider the feelings of whoever my mate was, the joy they would feel about finding their true love, or the joy that I would feel. I only thought of preventing pain and the guilt I would feel at leaving Bill. I remembered a restricted book on Veela in my family’s library that I had been allowed to read as a young teenager, and went home to read it again. It was about failure to find one’s mate and rejected bonds. I remembered there had been a potion meant for short-term use as a means to help the rejected Veela cope with the initial heartbreak. The potion was said to mute the Veela’s sense of her mate but was designed to work for only six months and would no longer work after that. The idea being that the shattered Veela needed a brief time where she did not feel her mate as strongly so she could prepare herself for a life without her chosen._

_As far as I knew, no one had ever used it for what I intended it. In fact, what I did would be considered anathema to my kind. I researched the ingredients and made adjustments. My modified potion thus was used to keep me from recognizing my mate and in an ingredient substitution, I was able to make its effectiveness last for longer than the six-month limit. A terrible thing for a Veela to do but actually less than what I had hoped to accomplish – prevent recognition by BOTH parties as well as prevent the formation of the bond. The potion I was able to make would not destroy the connection, some subconscious part of me would still be able to sense my mate’s presence and be able to form the bond, and my mate would still feel whatever connection there was to feel, but I would not consciously recognize or feel the connection. There was also the normal risk of meeting and falling in love with someone other than Bill but I didn’t think that would happen and since I had no plans to sleep with anyone else, there was no risk of forming a bond with a mate I would not recognize. At least, that’s what I told myself._

_I took my modified potion every two weeks after I became engaged to Bill. Which meant I was taking it that summer at the Burrow before your sixth year, through my wedding, and at Shell Cottage where we…_

_You were so broken after what had happened at Malfoy Manor. And whatever I had felt that first year together, it came back. Not the pull, the potion muted that, but it could not mute the attraction, the tenderness, the memories of what it had felt like to have you in my arms in empty classrooms and corridors, to taste your lips and see the desire in your eyes. It all came back at Shell Cottage. Holding you at night during your nightmares, it seemed like I was the only one that could calm you. You constantly sought me out, and I only now understand why. You must have felt the pull, the feeling that I was part of you. But to my shame, I did not. However, I did feel something that I wish I had told you before the battle._

_Those weeks that you were with me, I fell in love with you. And maybe I had loved you from the beginning. But Shell Cottage is where I recognized that what was between us was not a dalliance. The things you confided in me, the comfort I felt just by being by your side. Making you smile when it seemed like the darkness was about to overcome you. The way you could calm my anger with just a look. You weren’t a girl anymore; you were a young woman. And I wanted you. I needed you. I felt something for you that I realized I never felt with Bill. I looked back on that year of the tournament and regretted ever leaving you._

_But you were hurt. Traumatized. And I was married. Married! It was wrong. And I resisted and tried to maintain a respectable distance. In the last week leading up to when you left, you no longer cried out at night for comfort and I had stopped peeking into your room to check. But two nights before you left, something told me to open the door and see how you were. It was quiet and I was about to leave but you were awake and called me over to you. I already knew that you had the Polyjuice Potion and guessed at the rest. It was so incredibly dangerous and I wanted to argue with you but then you said you wanted me to hold you. And I did._

_Did you plan for it to happen? You held me to you, you told me you might die the day after next, that this might be our only chance. I was shocked at your brazenness. We hadn’t discussed our past or present feelings at all up until that point. You apologized, you said you knew it was unfair, that I was a married woman and you shouldn’t be bringing it up at all, and then your tears came. I could see that you felt ashamed for wanting to be with me and I kissed you. I didn’t want you to ever feel shame for wanting connection with another. And I thought that if you did die without my ever having had you, it would drive me mad. I asked if you had done this before and you nodded, saying there had been a girl and then a boy in sixth year, nothing serious. Part of me was jealous, even now I am jealous, but at the same time I was relieved. I was glad that you had those youthful experiences I’d hoped you would have when I left you._

_The memory of that night holds me even now. How your tentativeness exploded into passion. Even in your fear and worry you were so determined to bring me pleasure again and again. The ecstasy was overwhelming and I let you take from me what you could, praying that you would find whatever it was you were looking for. In the hours before dawn I woke in your arms and never wanted to leave. In my heart I knew that I had given you everything I had, everything I was, everything I would ever be. We made love one last time. Oh my love, the things I felt and wished for as I worshipped you. The images in my mind and heart of what we could have together. You whispered things into my neck that I did not hear as we fell into oblivion, things I wish I’d heard. Not even hours spent in a pensieve with that memory could make the words clear. We fell asleep again but you woke me up not long after. I could tell you wanted me to say something. Your eyes held so much hope. But I let you down, as I always did. I was confused. I loved you but I was still married and the guilt of my infidelity was crushing. You seemed to be hiding something but I was too distracted by my own thoughts to ask. You whispered goodbye when I left the bed. Out in the hall, I could hear you crying. I didn’t know what to do. And like the coward I was, I walked back to my room. I was scared, worried that I had taken advantage of your mental state. I thought we could talk after the war was over, assuming we survived. I would confess to Bill, and you and I could figure out what that night meant to the both of us._

_I didn’t realize what else had happened that night. The bond we had sealed. That potion hid it from me. But you felt it, didn’t you? Is that why you were crying? Were you waiting for me to feel what you felt? Did you interpret my actions to mean that I had rejected you?_

_You didn’t know what I’d done, you couldn’t possibly know. I had failed you. Your mate had failed you._

_I didn’t realize it until after I stopped taking the potion. By then you were gone to Australia, leaving about a week after the battle. I thought you would come back. But then it was two months after you’d gone and I could no longer hold off from telling Bill. I couldn’t bear to share a bed with him, knowing I was yours. As he had promised, he didn’t fight me on separation, but I didn’t tell him who it was. Maybe he knew but I didn’t want to say until after you and I had spoken._

_The divorce was settled quickly. He said he understood but I know he was heartbroken. And I don’t think Molly will ever forgive me. But he and I remain on good terms._

_In a little over a month, it will have been a year since you left and I am going mad with not knowing if you will ever return. But now that letter. You are not coming back, are you?_

_Maybe you don’t feel it. Maybe you had no idea that I was your mate and you were surprised that your need for physical comfort formed a bond you never wanted. This possibility makes me drown in my despair, knowing this would mean you never felt for me the way I felt and still feel for you._

_But if you did know, like I believe you did, then why not say anything? Why form the bond when you intended to reject it? Are you rejoicing in my unhappiness?_

_I am spiraling in self-doubt, my love. You could not be that cruel. I felt your kisses, your touch, the way you responded to me, the way you called out my name. There was only passion and gentleness that night. The blame falls on me. My weakness. My choice to take that potion._

_Unfortunately, even with a sealed bond my sense of you remains weak. If you had stayed, being around you, touching you, holding you, it would have deepened until it was as strong as any mated bond among my kind. Perhaps you do not feel the connection at all. Perhaps you are out there completely oblivious to what has occurred._

_But that letter to Harry. How you worded your choice and the unexpected person you knew would ask him about you... You know. You have to. You are staying away because of me._

_Please come back. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all that I’ve done. I love you. I love you. I will do anything. I will prostrate myself before you. Please don’t leave me. Please come back. Please._

The feeling of Hermione’s pain increased sharply and Fleur gasped as she tried to focus on it, tried to understand what was happening. She stood up and threw the quill across the room with a frustrated cry.

“It’s gotten worse. We need to find her. It’s constant, I can feel it. What’s happening? What’s happening, Harry?”

Fleur dropped to her knees and began crying, hoping whatever it was would be over for Hermione soon. Harry came over to her and held her. She didn’t know how long. He walked her over to the sofa and held tightly to her through her tears and yells. She could tell he was becoming worried.

“Okay,” Harry whispered. “Okay, maybe we can sneak into the Ministry or Hogwarts and find a clue to where she is. A couple of months ago I got word that those from my year who didn’t go back to finish at Hogwarts would still be allowed to sit their NEWTs this coming May and June. I’m sure she’ll be one of them and has registered, which means her location might be listed somewhere. We could start with McGonagall.”

“Oui, thank you. Thank you,” she breathed in reply. She was a ball of tension but at least they would soon be able to do something. “You get changed. I’ll wait here.”

Harry stood and went up to his room. Fleur began pacing again, trying to send whatever comfort she could to her mate. _I’m coming, hold on, hold on, Hermione._

And just like that, the pain was gone. A sense of euphoria and relief came over Fleur. But it was not her euphoria. It was Hermione’s. It felt like joy and excitement. _What kind of pain leads to this joy?_

It only took another moment for realization to hit Fleur. And her heart shattered.

Fleur waited for Harry to come back down. She was staring at the fire, tightly holding onto the scroll that she’d been writing in. She heard him rush back into the parlor and come to a halt at the sight of her. Holding back a sob, she threw the scroll into the fire. She’d burned all the others she’d written. This one was just as unnecessary. After she made sure it burned completely, Fleur went to Harry and gave him a short hug.

In a daze she said, “She’s all right now, Harry. Do not worry. She’s safe and happy. I shouldn’t have come here. Thank you for showing me her letter. Goodbye.”

Then she walked out of the parlor and out the front door.


	2. Lying by your side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that dialogue in bold means characters are speaking in French. I'm usually pretty good at occasional French but I felt less comfortable that I would get the nuances right in a full conversation.
> 
> Edit: oops, forgot to add that Fleurmione Week 2021.1 is coming in March! https://fleurmioneweek.tumblr.com/post/640603483691679744/fleurmione-week-20211

Chapter 2

Harry waved his wand to lock up and reset the wards. Then he sat down on the sofa and stared into the fire, at the ashes of Fleur’s scroll. He slowly mulled it over, like trying to piece together fragments of a broken tea cup by hand. Which sides fit perfectly, which sides had smaller shards to find that would fill in the gaps. He knew a little of Veela culture. Hermione had shared some of what she had learned since they had met Fleur during fourth year. He’d been distracted by a lot that year, but looking back now he recalled an intensity in Hermione’s interest in the Beauxbatons champion. There had also been an unexplained sadness in his friend during the lead-up to the wedding at the Burrow.

When Fleur showed up tonight asking for Hermione, Harry finally realized the identity of that unexpected person who had been referenced in her letter. Fleur had asked before at get-togethers but he only took it as curiosity. She had never come to him so directly and with so much vested interest. But tonight she had, and he now knew why. He knew why Fleur could feel Hermione, even not knowing where she was. He remembered how Fleur and Hermione had acted around each other during those weeks at Shell Cottage. Harry had been focused on the horcrux search and the war, but the way they had circled around each other. The way Fleur wouldn’t let anyone near her in those initial days of healing. The way Hermione’s eyes had always sought out Fleur, always needing to be near her.

Standing up, he looked for the quill that Fleur had used and picked it up. It had been a gift from Hermione. Rolling it between his fingers, Harry walked to the writing desk. Opening a small drawer, he placed Hermione’s gift inside and took out a different quill to place on the desk, and then closed the drawer. Fleur’s strange departure had worried him but he could tell she believed in what she had said about Hermione’s safety. Harry decided not to make inquiries into Hermione’s whereabouts for the time being, trusting that his friend was where she needed to be.

*::::*

Apparating back into her flat, Fleur trembled as she took a seat on the couch in her living room. Everything looked strange as she looked around. She’d moved in after leaving Bill and it was located close to the British Ministry. Fleur hadn’t decorated much at first but as the waiting for Hermione’s return dragged on, she gradually added touches she thought Hermione would like. Back then, dreams filled her thoughts of making this their first home, of being a young couple in love in a big city, of coming home late after a night out with friends and making love until the sun came up.

Of course, now those things would never be.

She blinked back tears as she focused on what she would need to pack up and take with her. After making the list in her mind, Fleur turned her attention to who to notify. Even though they were divorced, Bill had occasionally contacted her to meet for lunch. He was currently out of the country but he was her ex-husband and deserved at least some kind of farewell.

Fleur walked to her office and tried to ignore the half-empty bookshelves that lined the walls, the space she’d left for Hermione to fill. Sitting down at her desk, she took out a bit of parchment and began to write.

_27 March 1999_

_Dear William,_

_I wish I could say this in person but there’s no time, and we’ve already had our talks and settled things between us. I just wanted to say again that I’ll always be thankful for the patience and forgiveness you’ve shown me. I know I gave you minimal explanation. Finding and bonding with my mate, having been unfaithful to you but not telling you who. If I did, then I would have had to explain all of my other shameful mistakes. It doesn’t really matter now, and I know you’ve known all along who she was anyway. Thank you for understanding and for not pressing me for details. We’ve talked a little about the possibility of being rejected and it’s happened, so you know what I must do._

_You have been a dear friend to me. I’m so sorry for everything. You deserve every happiness. Goodbye, William._

_Your friend always,_

_Fleur_

She folded and placed her letter in an envelope. Fleur frowned as she thought on other friends that would be upset at her disappearing without a word. In the end, she decided not to owl anyone else. If someone cared enough, they could contact her family and her family would say she’d gone on an extended holiday and didn’t know when she’d be back. That would have to do.

Walking out of her office, Fleur made quick work of packing the letter to Bill and what little belongings she would need into a bag which had an extension charm placed on it. A few important things and mementos were packed into boxes. Fleur wasn’t sure if she would see this place again but it didn’t matter. Her mate wasn’t returning to make this the home that she’d dreamed about.

Taking one more glance around, Fleur then closed her eyes and focused on Hermione. She could only feel that ever-present tether now, which told her nothing of her mate’s emotional state. This was actually the norm. There really hadn’t been much of anything all year, except for today’s events and the nightmares early on which Fleur had only guessed at given the timing and the tug of fear and anxiety in her chest. Other than that, she hadn’t been able to sense much of anything. During the year and earlier today, she had cursed the weakness of her connection but now she was grateful for it. Her heart was already ripped to shreds; sensing more of Hermione’s happiness would only burn her to ashes like the remains of all the other letters she’d written.

Satisfied that she was done with this place, Fleur walked to the small fireplace in her living room, grabbed some floo powder and used it to go to her family’s estate.

Arriving inside the informal parlor of her family’s large manor, she quickly spoke to a house elf and waited for her mother to be told of her arrival.

Apolline Delacour was a regal yet warm woman. She was also very proud of her Veela heritage. Fleur dreaded having to admit what she had done, knowing the disappointment her mother would feel. But there was nothing she could do now.

Fleur waited for her mother in the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry but she hadn’t eaten all day so she forced herself to eat a piece of bread and take two bites of an apple. It was all she could manage.

“ **Fleur, my dear, what has happened?** ” her mother asked as she entered the kitchen.

She took one look at her daughter and opened her arms. Fleur ran into them and sobbed.

After she had calmed down, she sat on a stool in front of the long kitchen island and confessed what she had done, the potion, being mated and bonded to Hermione but being rejected, reciting word for word the letter she had read at Harry’s. The one thing she held back was what she had been feeling through her connection with Hermione today and what it meant. She wasn’t ready to share that yet.

“ **My Fleur, that potion only dulls the connection. I don’t even know how its effectiveness on you lasted for so long, but even so you should have sensed what you were to her after those weeks in close quarters, especially when sealing the bond. I don’t understand.** ”

Fleur took a minute to steel herself before looking her mother in the eye. “ **I modified the potion.** ”

Apolline’s eyes flashed in shock and fury and Fleur crumbled in the face of it. Her mother immediately gathered her in her arms and Fleur welcomed the comfort even though she knew her mother’s anger lingered.

“ **I know, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter. She’s gone. She doesn’t want me.** ”

Apolline was silent for a long time but then softly asked, “ **And you’re sure you can’t just stay here with us?** ”

Fleur nodded.

Her mother let go of Fleur and went to an empty stool and sat down next to Fleur.

“ **Rejections don’t happen all that often and when they do, it’s usually before the bond is sealed. It is a rare thing for bonded mates to separate. And you know as well as I that a sealed bond can never be broken. You will never love another. The connection between you will always be there. But where you will go, you will find the peace and strength to not let her rejection cripple you.** ”

“ **My flat in London needs to be dealt with. As does my job at Gringotts.** ”

“ **We will take care of it.** ”

Apolline drew her wand and waved it silently. A book came from the library, one that Fleur had read twice before. It was very old and as a young teenager looking forward to the possibility of love and happiness, its contents were depressing and dreary. As a foolish girl hoping to prevent breaking Bill’s heart, she had read it again to get the recipe of that potion.

Apolline handed her a piece of paper and opened the book. Fleur looked at it with revulsion. It was not supposed to be like this and her heart broke even more. If only she had had more faith in her feelings for Hermione from the very start.

“ **Write down your modified potion recipe for me, please.** ”

Fleur took out a pencil from a nearby drawer and quietly wrote down her ingredients and the brewing steps. Handing the slip of paper over, she watched as her mother’s brow knit together in concentration as she compared the original potion in the book to the various additions and adjustments Fleur had made.

“ **You were always brilliant, my child. I can see how you increased the potency and the longevity of its effectiveness. You will need to check with one of our healers to be sure, but I believe you weakened her sense of you as well.** ”

“ **That’s not possible. I did try incorporating ingredients that would do that but the integrity of the potion always failed so I had to do without that component.** **None of the ingredients I used would be capable of that.** ”

“ **You forget how your connection works, Fleur. And you didn’t exactly have it tested by proper healers, did you?** ” responded Apolline harshly. “ **Your magic and blood are two key ingredients of this potion in its proper form as well as your modified one, which means it is always tailored to the Veela that uses it. We don’t know how your modifications would have interacted with your blood and how this would have impacted your mate. Or even on how the formation of the bond would have reacted to a part of yourself being suppressed. I can imagine an overcompensation of some kind to make sure the bond sealed. Or any number of things your magic could’ve done to ensure your mate was claimed properly. But I do know the connection flows both ways, one dependent on the other. Muting your conscious sense of her put your instincts and magic in flux. She would feel something but even after the sealing, I fear she didn’t feel any more of a change than you did.** ”

Fleur clenched her fists at this new information, at one more way she had impeded the possibility of her being with her love. But knowing Hermione had felt a weaker bond while she was taking the potion didn’t change anything. Harry’s letter told her Hermione knew what they were to each other, and it told her what her mate’s choice had been.

“ **It changes nothing,** ” whispered Fleur.

Apolline hummed and nodded.

“ **You will go to our sister clan in Norway. Speak to their healer and she will direct you to wherever the seclusion camp is. I do not know and will not be told where you will go, and there will be no way for us or anyone else to contact you. Wards will be in place at the camp so your mate will not be able to sense you. I imagine you would be able to brew this potion of yours so that you won’t be able to feel her but I would advise you not to do that. You are a fully bonded Veela. This bond will always be a part of you. Better to get used to it early on while you strengthen yourself against the loss.** ”

“ **How long will I be gone?** ”

“ **It could take a few months or it could take you years. Or you may decide to never come back. It all depends on you. You will have the freedom to return at any time. But if you do return, you know what will happen. You will be unable to resist for very long.** ”

Fleur swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. Her shame and guilt had been enough for her to not seek the help of her clan to find her mate, but the urge had been there just the same. Learning tonight that she was rejected did not change this urge to go to her mate’s side, to see Hermione for herself and make sure she was safe and protected. Fleur could continue to fight against this instinct, and in her seclusion she would have to, but if she chose to leave the camp there would always be the pull to seek her out and be near her. In truth, Fleur’s honor as a Delacour would demand that she do so.

Such was the sad fate of the Veela facing a rejected bond. In the past, Fleur had laughed at the silly myth humans had spread about the death that came to a bonded Veela after being rejected by her mate. But given that she was about to go off grid, potentially staying away from friends and family for many years, now she understood how that myth might have begun. A bonded Veela who returned risked becoming overwhelmed by being so close to her mate and never having them. The depression that might result could lead to self-harm. The ignorant would say the returned Veela could just refuse but her honor and the bond wouldn’t let her.

“ **Do you want us to locate her? Whether she likes it or not, she is a part of our clan now. It would be our responsibility to check in on her while you are away.** ”

“ **No. Leave her be. She wants to escape this world and I will honor her wishes. When I return, I will decide how to proceed.** ”

She again wondered how long that would be. The book that contained the potion offered meditations and various platitudes for the spurned Veela but the actual training itself was described to be tailored to the individual. Fleur could only guess that it would focus on learning to harden herself more than she ever had to in the past, to form an impenetrable mask, to form walls around her heart that would help her endure losing Hermione. Love for her mate would always exist and always be all-encompassing but she would learn to hide it away in a place so deep that not even seeing Hermione again would bring it back to the surface.

Fleur stood up and embraced her mother.

“ **My daughter, if she changes her mind and comes to me, what do you wish for me to tell her?** ” Apolline whispered.

She tensed. It was not a possibility she wanted to entertain and the hope that threatened to rise within her felt like a lie she needed to squash down.

“ **That won’t happen.** ”

“ **But if it does.** ”

“ **Mother,** ” Fleur’s voice cracked, tears filling her eyes. “ **She won’t ever choose me.** ”

“ **Very well,** ” Apolline gently said, looking upon her eldest daughter with so much sadness that Fleur had to look away. “ **Sleep in your room tonight so that you may have a chance to speak with your father and grandmother in the morning. I will summon Gabrielle from Beauxbatons so that she will be here to see you off as well.** ”

“ **Thank you. Goodnight,** ” answered Fleur weakly.

Fleur walked out of the kitchen and went up the stairs to her old bedroom. She prepared herself for bed and got under the covers. In the morning, she would send her letter to Bill, and speak with and say her goodbyes to her family.

Closing her eyes, she tried not to picture the person Hermione was likely holding right now. Fleur didn’t want to hate. She only wanted Hermione to be happy. But she couldn’t help feeling bitter, tears again falling down her face. After everything they had gone through, it hurt that Hermione could just leave like that without an explanation. That the famous Gryffindor bravery didn’t extend to telling Fleur to her face that they couldn’t be together.

The calmer side of her mind went to the memory of when she realized Hermione was her one. She had been with Bill at the Burrow. It had been a little over a month since the second of May, the date of that horrible battle and the deaths of so many. Funerals were done, life was moving on. Ron was rambling about not having heard from Hermione since she left a few weeks prior and hoped that her trip to Australia would be quick. Fleur had blushed and tried not to think of that night she’d slept with the young witch whom she loved and missed. She tried not to think about how much she hoped to see her again. But the more she tried not to think about it, the more heated and flushed she became. Fleur had excused herself to go outside for some fresh air but it did not calm her. Her heart was swelling with warmth and adoration, she could feel a tether growing and could almost feel Hermione’s presence on the other side of it. With a gasp and tears in her eyes, Fleur realized that the last time she had taken her potion was the day before the battle. The effects were finally working their way out of her system. What she was feeling and sensing was Hermione. The witch was her mate and their souls and magic had bonded. Without a word to the Weasleys inside, she had apparated back to Shell Cottage to stare at the room where she had bonded with Hermione without realizing it. She cried and screamed at her stupidity and held fast to the connection, weak as it was.

After that outburst, Fleur told herself to be patient. That Hermione would come back. That she would be able to make it up to her. She stopped touching Bill and turned his touch away. It was a month of making up excuses but eventually she told him what she’d done. They’d worked through it and came out of the divorce as friends. And still she waited for her true love to return, her frustration and despair growing as the months went by, but her hope remained as she clung to their bond.

Until tonight tore all her hopes away. Her dreams of taking Hermione in her arms, exchanging declarations of love and devotion, sharing and building a life and family together, all of it gone.

Because Fleur was close to certain Hermione had just given birth to a child. The intermittent pain all day long, the increasing frequency of it, the culmination of it resulting in such joy… it was the only conclusion that made sense. She was a mother. Given the date on the letter to Harry, Hermione must have met someone in Australia and decided not to return.

Her mate had chosen another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Tender is the touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter got a bit long lol
> 
> One more reminder that Fleurmione Week 2021.1 is coming in March!  
> https://fleurmioneweek.tumblr.com/post/640603483691679744/fleurmione-week-20211

Chapter 3

Hermione stepped through the doors of Hogwarts and out into the warm, early June air. She was immediately taken back to the wonderment she had felt when she was twelve years old and the magical world was still a bright light in her life. But just as quickly, she remembered the day of the battle and that feeling of hopelessness when she thought Harry had died. Shaking off these thoughts, she looked around. Fortunately, most of the students were either in exams or tucked away studying and no one bothered her as she took a sad look at the grounds. It was hard being back here, at remembering everything that happened. But not as hard as it would have been if she’d come back as a student the previous autumn.

Minerva McGonagall had helped facilitate her return so that she could take her NEWTs over the last couple of weeks. She’d even offered her a chance to take them after the school term was over but Hermione wanted to take them around the same time as everyone else. The Hogwarts headmistress permitted her to use a disguise and wear Hufflepuff robes so she wouldn’t stand out amongst the other students sitting their NEWTs or anyone else who knew and might have recognized her, like Ginny Weasley. Luna had given her an odd look a week ago but didn’t say anything. No one did. But she didn’t have to worry now that she had just finished her last one. The Ministry had told her there was no need for her to sit the exams but Hermione didn’t feel right about it. A position at the Ministry without her NEWTs would have felt like a cheat.

Walking towards the gates, she transfigured her school uniform into plain, dark blue robes that wouldn’t draw attention, and once she exited the gates she promptly apparated to Diagon Alley. Her disguise of straightened black hair, blue eyes, and higher cheekbones remained in place. Hermione may have decided to return to magical society but aside from several people who knew she was there, like McGonagall, the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures who she’d been in touch with about a position, and the proctors administering her NEWTs, she wasn’t quite ready to face the masses on the streets.

The brunette slowly walked past the shops and street sellers, enjoying the hustle and bustle, glad to see colors and happiness again after the terror Voldemort and his followers had wrought here. She liked seeing young children with wide eyes and sticky fingers pressed up against storefront windows, coveting sweets or the latest broom model. Hermione felt a twinge of sadness for her own childhood, for having to grow up too soon, but seeing those children made it all worth it. There was hope for them and there was now hope for her, too. Smiling, Hermione reminded herself to tell Mara how she’d been able to walk through crowds without having any anxiety attacks.

She had just one more thing to take care of before she headed back home to Ottawa.

Hermione nervously approached Gringotts. She hadn’t been inside since the day she, Harry, and Ron broke in more than a year ago. The deception had been necessary back then, but now she felt uneasy continuing with her current disguise so she undid it as she entered the doors. Slowly walking through, she noticed everything had been repaired as if nothing had happened. A few goblins directed stern glances her way but no one said anything. She really didn’t want to be here, and not just because of what she and her friends had done. But a certain someone needed to know she was coming back and she wanted to talk to that person face to face. Hermione took a deep breath, braced herself, and walked to the Head Goblin’s desk.

“Good afternoon, I would like to speak with someone in the Recovery and Acquisitions Office, please,” Hermione said, using as polite a tone as she could.

“Only employees are allowed in the Recovery Office, Miss Granger,” answered the Head Goblin, giving her a withering gaze.

Hermione gulped, unsurprised she’d been recognized. She clenched her jaw and pressed on.

“I realize that. I just need to speak with one of your curse-breakers. A Mrs. Fleur Weasley.”

The goblin clucked his tongue and looked back down to his ledger. It seemed like a dismissal but then he spoke.

“Miss Delacour is no longer an employee here at Gringotts.”

Hermione blinked. Now she was surprised. Perhaps she should’ve contacted Harry. But then that would’ve led to questions and get-togethers and her plan was to send owls to him, Ron, and Ginny later. The reunions with them could wait for when she and her family moved back to England.

_Why did he use Fleur’s maiden name?_

“May I speak with Mr. William Weasley instead?”

“Mr. Weasley is currently on assignment in Egypt and is not expected back for another six months. If you do not have any legitimate business with us today, I suggest you make your personal inquiries elsewhere, Miss Granger.”

That was definitely a dismissal. Hermione knew she would not get any further so she gave her thanks and walked away, ignoring the curious stares of the other bank customers. They probably recognized her but she paid them no heed. As soon as she reached the doors, she quickly donned her disguise and walked outside. Her earlier good humor was replaced by annoyance as she wandered through Diagon Alley. She had fully expected to see Fleur and had been preparing herself for it over the last few weeks. But now it looked like she and Bill were in Egypt. Sending an owl to say what she needed to say was not what she had wanted; these things she’d held in her heart for far too long deserved more than that. But there was nothing she could do about it now. She would have to give more thought on how to proceed after her family’s move. Hermione apparated to Hogsmeade.

She kept her disguise as she walked through the village. She was early but that was because she had planned for at least an hour’s conversation with the Frenchwoman. Walking into the Three Broomsticks, Hermione ordered a butterbeer and sat at a table in a secluded corner while she waited to meet with Minerva.

Emotions and memories washed over her as she sipped her drink. Time had helped. So did therapy. Dealing with the trauma of the war had been and was still one of her greatest challenges, and would very likely be a lifelong journey. It helped that she now had hope for the future, and a cherished reason to keep on hoping. But the war was only one part of her pain. The other part was Fleur.

Deciding not to return when she went to Australia hadn’t been her plan when she left. And she felt guilty for leaving barely a week after the battle, before all the funerals, for leaving her friends without giving them any sort of proper goodbye. But seeing Fleur in Bill’s arms as they mourned with the rest of the Weasleys over Fred reminded her that Fleur had rejected her at Shell Cottage only a few days earlier. The woman had selfishly slept with her, knowing it would seal their bond and forge an unbreakable lifelong connection, and even though Hermione had known Fleur might choose to remain with Bill, she was still angry that she had. Hermione didn’t know why Fleur had done that. Everything she’d read about Veela and their mates said that Fleur loved her, and Hermione had felt it during those weeks as she recovered from her torture at Malfoy Manor. The way Fleur looked at her, the care she had shown her.

Why didn’t Fleur ever talk to her about being mates? Hermione had no answer to this question. To be fair, Hermione had no idea that’s what they were to each other during fourth year. She thought the tug in her chest was just her first flush of teenage romance. She hadn’t known how to explain why she’d fallen so hard and fast for the blonde and preferred to look at it as just a physical thing. In retrospect, she should’ve said something to her about her growing attachment, and she had been working towards it, but then Fleur broke her heart. Fifth year at Hogwarts went by so fast what with the terror of Umbridge and trying to control Harry’s recklessness, that it wasn’t too hard to ignore the tug and ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t until she saw Fleur at the Burrow the summer before sixth year, when the jealousy and anger over the engagement to Bill was so strong she thought she might hurt someone, that she was forced to confront her feelings as something deeper.

She had been furious at the Veela for how she made a permanent dwelling in her heart. In addition to supporting Harry, Hermione spent sixth year actively trying to forget Fleur. Early in the year there had been a short, anger-fueled fling with Pansy Parkinson, not caring one whit that her first time was with someone she hated. As physically satisfying as it had been, the spark between them quickly snuffed out and their status as enemies reasserted itself. A few dates with others during the year went nowhere, too. One evening, her yearning for Fleur got to be too much which resulted in a small breakdown in the library, and Neville Longbottom sat with her. She had expected clumsy attempts to comfort her but he remained quiet, waiting for her to calm down and talk when she was ready. Hermione didn’t tell him about Fleur but they talked about school and their families, and made plans to talk again. And they kept talking. And they eventually dated. As expected, Ron was an idiot about it, but being with Neville gave her the confidence to finally confront him and tell her friend that she wouldn’t ever feel that way about him.

Neville was gentle and sweet, and for the two months they were together she tried to make a go of it. But after their first and only time sleeping together, she realized that she couldn’t force her heart to feel more than it did. He understood and they broke up. The transition back to friends came without tears or heartache, which only confirmed her view that she’d never really let him in. Hermione had other things to worry about after that. Dumbledore’s death. Harry’s plan to find the horcruxes. Fleur’s wedding.

By that time, she was almost positive that she was Fleur’s mate. Hermione had researched as much about Veela culture as she could during fourth year and from what little she could glean from the outlandish tales the wizarding world deigned to publish, mates amongst the Veela were real. She just hadn’t made the connection about her own situation until that summer after sixth year. It was the only thing that explained the pull in her chest when they were near each other. She tried to talk to her before the wedding but Fleur was busy and ignored her. Hermione could’ve tried harder but she didn’t have the heart after seeing how happy and excited the blonde looked. Watching her marry Bill was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to endure but she told herself it was for the best. She would be leaving soon with Harry and Ron on a dangerous mission; so dangerous she might not survive. In her mind, Harry had done the right thing by ending it with Ginny. Hermione couldn’t be selfish when Fleur had someone who would be able to stay with her and keep her safe. That’s what she kept telling herself throughout the horcrux hunt. Then Malfoy Manor happened.

The torture had weakened more than just her body. It weakened her resolve to stay selfless when it came to the Veela. Hermione didn’t even try fighting her want as the woman helped heal her. The only thing Hermione wanted was to be near her, to touch her, to soak up the very essence of her. She was in love and she didn’t want to bury it away anymore. The magical pull she felt didn’t get stronger per se, but it did feel warmer, more urgent. And then sometimes it would disappear and she would doubt herself, wondering if it was all in her head. But she could tell Fleur also wanted to be near her, her touches and gaze lingered in ways that left Hermione’s heart thundering with hope. Neither of them acted, though. As the time approached for the break-in at Gringotts, Hermione had known the odds were against them, and that it might be better to push down her feelings as she had done before, but her selfishness won out.

_Hermione lay quietly in bed, unable to sleep. The sounds of the crashing waves nearby seemed louder tonight, more dissonant. The Gringotts plan was weighing on her. Too many things could go wrong. Having a backup team would be better. Consulting with Bill and Fleur about ways to get out if they got trapped would be the smart thing to do. But instead of doing that, they were going in blind and she wanted to scream at Harry’s insistence they do this on their own. She debated turning on the light so that she could read for a couple of hours but then her door opened. Fleur had stopped checking on her days ago so it was a surprise to see her. Hermione almost didn’t say anything but when Fleur made to leave, she called out to her._

_“Please come in,” she said softly._

_The Frenchwoman quietly closed the door and slowly approached the bed with a worried expression. “Are you all right? Have you had another nightmare?”_

_It looked like the blonde was holding back. Her concern looked like it had to do with something other than nightmares and Hermione suspected Fleur knew more about their plan than she let on._

_“I can’t sleep,” Hermione murmured. She took a deep breath and then breathed out, “Will you hold me?”_

_Hermione missed how Fleur would comfort her after her nightmares. She missed warm arms that would hold her tightly, those soft lips pressed to her temple whispering assurances. But tonight, she wanted more than that. She was nervous as Fleur climbed into the bed and pulled her into her arms. Her head rested on Fleur’s chest for a few minutes, summoning her courage, tossing aside every argument which said this was enough, that she should let the woman go once and for all. It was all pressing down on her. The guilt, her fears, her responsibilities. Her heart struggled against them. Why did she always have to sacrifice so much? Why couldn’t she reach for what she wanted just this once?_

_The whisper escaped her before she could rethink it. “Make love to me, Fleur.”_

_She heard Fleur’s surprised gasp and felt her body tense up. Hermione felt torn and disgusted with herself. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. The intention had been to bring up their feelings over the last few weeks. And now to just jump straight to it without any preamble whatsoever… The terrible things Fleur must think of her… But in the end, did it matter how she asked? Her selfish need to be with the woman was the same whether she sugar-coated it or not. The blood rushed through her ears as she waited for a response. When one didn’t come, Hermione lifted her head to look the Veela straight in the eyes. There was enough moonlight to see the other woman’s confusion but her pulse raced when she recognized the same restrained desire that was on Fleur’s face that night when they almost slept together in the Beauxbatons carriage._

_“Hermione, you’re not thinking clearly,” Fleur said hoarsely, attempting to sound firm but the younger witch heard the waver in her voice. “You’ve gone through something horri–“_

_“I’m sorry, I know it isn’t fair for me to ask,” the brunette interrupted. And oh Merlin, did she know. She was propositioning a married woman and asking her to do something that could end her marriage. It was reckless and desperate, and a few months ago she would have balked at throwing herself at Fleur in this way, at throwing her self-respect out the window by begging. But in this moment, Hermione didn’t want to take it back. They belonged together. Why couldn’t Fleur see that?_

_“I know you’re not free and you made your choice about us long ago... But what we feel hasn’t gone away, it’s only grown. I know you feel it. If we had had more time… but we don’t, Fleur… tonight might be all that we have. I’ve had to accept that I might not survive this war… and I thought I came to terms with you and him…”_

_Hermione kept trailing off, she knew she wasn’t explaining herself very well. Tears fell from her eyes and she felt ashamed. “Look, I know what it’ll mean if we do this and I want it, I want you. Even if it’s just tonight… I can’t die not knowing what it’s like to have you as my –”_

_The next thing she knew Fleur leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. Hermione’s breathing through her nose quickened and she kept her eyes open to observe the other woman. Fleur’s eyes were closed and her lips trembled at her touch. Just as Hermione was about to show mercy and say they didn’t have to, the older witch broke the kiss and spoke._

_“Of course, I want you, Hermione,” rushed Fleur breathlessly, her eyes wild, taking the younger witch in as if she might disappear at any moment, her pale hands holding Hermione’s hair out of her face. “I just… I’m still…”_

_Fleur didn’t have to say it. The brunette knew the other woman could make no promises, that crossing this line could lead to ruin for one or both of them._

_“I know,” choked out Hermione, tears falling as she nodded, damning all the consequences._

_The blonde let out a strangled breath and tangled one of her hands in Hermione’s hair, then pulled her forward into a deeper kiss. Hermione immediately sank into her. Every cell in her body rejoiced in the passion that overcame her. This was what this was supposed to feel like. This was what had been missing in her entanglements with Pansy and Neville. Throwing her leg over the woman’s waist to straddle her, Hermione pressed in even harder as she tried to make up for lost time. She moaned into the other woman’s mouth; she had forgotten how good Fleur tasted. The last time they had kissed, Hermione had been an inexperienced fifteen-year-old trying to prove to Fleur that she was ready for the next step even though she hadn’t been._

_But she wasn’t fifteen or inexperienced anymore._

_Fleur rolled Hermione over onto her back and lay between her legs, then she brought out her wand to lock the door and cast a muffliato charm on the room. The blonde panted heavily, set her wand on the nightstand, and asked, “Have you done this before?”_

_She nodded and looked up into the eyes of the woman she loved. The blonde was the picture of consideration, giving Hermione every chance to stop this. The brunette smiled and caressed Fleur’s back, pulling her closer, and then she whispered, “There was a girl and then a boy in sixth year. Not anything serious. Nothing like how I feel right now.”_

_Hermione saw the flash of jealousy in Fleur’s expression but it was quickly replaced with acceptance and maybe even a little relief. Fleur leaned in to kiss her again, a soft hand reaching under her sleep shirt._

She had felt such euphoria at Fleur agreeing to seal their bond. Her heart felt like it would burst with her love for the other woman. And Fleur didn’t seem to hold anything back, letting Hermione set the pace and shower the blonde with her love. After the bond was fully formed, the connection didn’t feel much stronger than before which surprised her. At least she could feel some of Fleur’s emotions, even though they felt fuzzy, like a rough impression instead of the strong sensations she’d read about. Nevertheless, she _did_ feel them and it proved she had been right. They were mates and now they were bonded. She fell asleep in her mate’s arms and when they woke again, their desire for each other reignited. They both understood that they didn’t have much more time and Fleur seemed frenzied in the way she took Hermione, grinding down over Hermione’s thigh as her strong fingers pumped into the brunette. The brunette focused hard on their connection; she could feel how much Fleur was giving her, she could feel the woman’s heart pulsing to the same beat as her own. They were one in every way. As they brought each other closer to their peaks, Hermione imagined their future. She imagined what it would be like to grow a family with Fleur and the thought of it brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to put so much hope into something that may never be because there was still Bill and the war, but Hermione wanted that future with all of her heart.

_As they thrust against each other, Fleur’s face was half against Hermione’s ear and half buried into the pillow, and Hermione’s face was buried in Fleur’s neck. She wanted release and she also didn’t want it to end, their rhythms and moans growing more frantic with their need. When Fleur suddenly stiffened with a sharp cry of her name, Hermione finally let go and came with loud, gasping cries._

_Hermione knew she said she could live with just one night, that she could bond with Fleur and be able to walk away afterwards. But as the waves of pleasure coursed through their bodies, Hermione clung fiercely to her love, muffling her cries by pressing her mouth onto the silky skin of her mate’s neck, trying to bite back the words fighting their way into her throat. It was no use. She had to say it. She wanted more than tonight. She wanted forever._

_Her mouth still buried in Fleur’s neck, Hermione breathed out, “I love you, Fleur… Choose me… Marry me.”_

There hadn’t been a response but they were so exhausted, Fleur dozed off still on top of her and she soon followed. When Hermione had woken up again, she carefully pushed Fleur’s shoulder to roll the woman off to her side and watched as her lover slowly awakened. The moment blue eyes blinked open and found Hermione’s, they smiled at each other. Hermione waited for the Veela to say something. She could feel Fleur’s love, their bond was new but she was confident it would grow strong in time. When blue eyes darted away, Hermione felt the other woman’s guilt. Her heart sunk as she realized that Fleur was still feeling indecisive. She swallowed her hurt; she knew going in that tonight might be all that her mate would give her. But when Fleur left the bed without even saying anything about their bond, all a stunned Hermione could say was goodbye. It was a blow. A punch to the gut. How could Fleur be so heartless? All the reputable things she had read about Veela said that the bond could only form between true mates and that the Veela would love her bond-mate for the rest of her life. Fleur loved her. She knew that she did. So how could Fleur have chosen to seal the bond and then not even address it?

The next day a disheartened and angry Hermione avoided being alone with her, and she wasn’t surprised that Fleur made no effort to talk with her either, aside from the brief exchange when Fleur handed her clothes that she needed for her Bellatrix Lestrange disguise. The day after that, she, Harry, and Ron left for Gringotts.

Hermione knew she should’ve said something. She should’ve yelled at the blonde. When the war was won, she should’ve pulled Fleur aside and confronted her. But her fury and heartbreak told her to wait until after she had recovered her parents. So, she left. And once in Australia, she was faced with a blow of a different kind. After locating her parents and giving them back their memories, becoming Greg and Sarah Granger once more, there was no joyous reunion, only anger and reproach. She was overwhelmed by guilt and it felt like losing them all over again. She had broken their trust and they needed to adjust to what had happened to them. All three of them decided they should stay put for the time being.

In those first weeks, tensions with Hermione’s parents were fraught and the nightmares were frequent, so she spent a lot of time exploring the coastal town they’d settled in. It helped that the connection with her mate seemed nearly non-existent and held none of the Veela’s emotions; just this faint tether, like a dull buzzing in her chest. Hermione concluded that it was likely due to the distance between them.

She spent more time hiding away in a nearby pub than she should have, casting glamours to cover her scars, and burying her pain with alcohol. At first she kept to herself and then a young man named Sebastian approached her. The first thing she said to him was that she loved someone else and he accepted it. It all seemed so cliché to have a rebound relationship like that but there was nothing trite about the way Seb kept her afloat when she was so often tempted to let herself drown. When she couldn’t bear the look in her parents’ eyes, Seb was there at the pub, ready to cheer her up with jokes. When she needed to get Fleur out of her mind, when the tether to her mate felt strangely strong, Seb was there to soothe her in his bed. He never pushed, never asked questions about her life before, never asked what her nightmares were about, and he was exactly what she needed. His carefree attitude about life made her envious. It was what prompted her to suggest to her parents that they not return to England. Hermione wanted to rebuild their relationship away from that world that had driven a wedge between them. But her friends would know to look for her in Australia. They needed to move somewhere else. Somewhere far away so the connection to Fleur would remain weak. Hermione ended things with Seb and started making her plans.

Writing that letter to Harry had been difficult. It hadn’t been fair of her to ask him to shoulder that burden of being the one that had to tell Ron and Ginny she wasn’t coming back. But she also knew he was the only one who would understand her decision. As for including that reference to an ‘unexpected person’, Hermione hadn’t really thought Fleur would ask Harry about her but on the very slim chance that she did, she wanted the Frenchwoman to know she was done. She used the regular postal service, figuring it would take a while before he received it.

It was a testament to their love for their daughter that Hermione’s parents agreed to her suggestion to move to Canada. She could tell they preferred going back to England, and she knew they viewed it as her running away, but they could also tell something had broken inside her. Hermione had to promise them that she would seek out a therapist after their move. Her first thought was to go to a muggle therapist but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that true healing would come with being honest about the things that had happened to her. But she knew nothing about Canada’s magical communities, and didn’t know how she would find a trusted healer, someone who wouldn’t gossip to anyone about her identity and risk her location being revealed to others who might seek her out. Just making inquiries might raise red flags. Hermione hated that she was already bending on her resolve to leave behind the magical world but she needed help. She took a day trip to Sydney to find an owlery and sent a message to Professor McGonagall. It was about as long as the letter to Harry; a simple declaration of her plan to not return, her current address, and a request for help locating a healer in Canada that dealt in mental health issues. Fortunately for Hermione, her favorite professor was an understanding one and her reply included well wishes, an offer to sit her NEWTs when she was ready, and a name for a former Hogwarts student living in Ottawa.

The Grangers found a small house just outside Ottawa and they had moved in towards the end of July. Her parents made plans to start another dental practice by the beginning of September using new identities Hermione helped procure. They were the Browns now; Mark, Cheryl, and Jean. Hermione split her time between a job she’d gotten at a nearby bookstore and helping them set up the new office space. She’d kept her promise to her parents by scheduling an appointment with the therapist for the first Tuesday in August using her fake name. McGonagall had referred her to a muggleborn witch who had performed the incredible feat of earning a muggle medical degree, taking on all the requisite internships and residencies at muggle hospitals, all while working at the same time as a healer at St. Mungo’s.

Her name was Dr. Mara Muñoz but in their first session, she told Hermione to call her Mara.

_“Did Professor McGonagall contact you about me?” Hermione asked after a long silence. Several minutes earlier she had revealed her true name, pointed out the scar on her arm, and coldly described the witch who had given it to her. She had expected follow-up questions but Mara remained silent, waiting for her to continue at her own pace. Rather than continue with her experiences, she changed tack to find out what the older witch had been told._

_“Just that I would be hearing from someone that required discretion. It was an unnecessary note to send on her part. I take my patients’ privacy needs very seriously, regardless of how famous they are.”_

_Hermione frowned. “Your shingle just says therapist and doesn’t include the fact that you have a medical degree with a specialty in psychiatry. Shouldn’t you more accurately describe yourself as a psychiatrist?”_

_“Witches and wizards have a hard enough time trusting no-maj technologies, much less theories of the mind. Since I exclusively treat members of the magical community, it makes sense to be as inviting as possible. And I’m just as likely to prescribe meditations as I am potions or medications. If it makes you feel better, I maintain my licensing in the muggle world but I am also a Healer with admitting privileges at Derwent Magical General Hospital.”_

_Hermione nodded, then hardened her expression and stated evenly, “McGonagall said you graduated Hogwarts in 1970.”_

_Mara sat back in her chair and let Hermione’s unspoken question sit between them before replying._

_“If your intention is to ask me about Bellatrix as a student, I’m sorry to disappoint you. As a muggleborn and a Hufflepuff, I ran in different circles. I am very familiar with the carnage she left behind, however. And that’s where our talks will be most helpful to you,” Mara finally said, tilting her head towards Hermione’s left arm._

_Hermione gave a small smile and relaxed. Mara had easily connected the dots and addressed her vague reference with pointed directness. It told her that the older witch wouldn’t let her get away with any bullshit and would confront her when necessary._

She liked Mara and agreed to start with twice-weekly sessions, and subsequently learned more of the other woman’s background. She respected the older witch’s decision to follow her muggle husband to Canada after getting frustrated with the Ministry’s bureaucratic hurdles to her efforts to better incorporate muggle medical knowledge into magical healing. Mara had especially railed against the insufficient availability of mental health support for survivors and veterans of the First Wizarding War. Her husband Abel Muñoz was a pediatrician whom she’d met in medical school and he was originally from Canada, so they agreed to move there back in 1990.

Mara’s frustrations with the rigidity of the British wizarding world helped Hermione connect with her, which prompted her to open up about other things. The corruption of the Ministry, the wear on her mind of being hunted and on the run for so long, the torture she’d endured at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, having to impersonate the woman and use her wand, then recovering her own wand after Lestrange’s death and trying to come to terms with the woman’s use of it in killing people she knew during the Battle of Hogwarts. But getting a new wand meant not leaving the magical world behind like she thought she wanted so she was torn over what to do. She ranted about everything except Fleur, telling herself that she would bring it up with Mara after a few more months.

It wasn’t easy, and during those first few weeks she often lashed out at some of Mara’s probing questions, or the way the woman would turn one of Hermione’s questions around on her. It did help to have an objective sounding board for all of her anger and frustrations, though. That first month of therapy seemed more like an excuse to vent her rage than learn ways to live with it, but months later Mara would say that Hermione had needed to do that very thing. She’d spent far too long bottling it up while she gave so much of herself to others that it was time to unleash it, however wrong or unfair it felt to say.

Hermione slowly opened up about her time at Hogwarts with her parents, too, no longer hiding the dangerous things that had happened over the years. They still argued sometimes but their relationship grew stronger. She started checking out university textbooks from the library to further her education and she toyed with the idea of properly attending to get a degree. The tether to Fleur remained but she learned to ignore it during the day. Nights were a different matter. Sometimes she thought she could sense the blonde’s emotions and it surprised her that they were not happy ones. She would tell herself it was just wishful thinking, though; that she still loved Fleur and her broken heart and loneliness were making up excuses so that she would seek her mate. During these moments, Hermione would repeat her mantra to accept Fleur’s choice, and that it wasn’t her. What was done was done.

In spite of all that, Hermione did feel proud of herself for taking these positive steps. She had known it was still too early to say, that she’d only just started her path to healing, but she was beginning to feel good about where things were going.

Then complications occurred at the end of August.

Namely, Hermione realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had menstruated. The stress of the horcrux hunt had really done a number on her cycle and it appeared those effects were lingering. Her mother Sarah, on the other hand, wasn’t so easily appeased by that explanation. Sarah knew about Seb and urged her to take a home pregnancy test. The brunette had laughed at her mother when she came home from the store with the test. Obviously Sarah was just paranoid and Hermione decided it would be better to humor her than fight about it. When the diabolical stick said positive, the witch still refused to believe it. False positives happened, it said so right in the instructions. It was her mother that had made the appointment with a muggle doctor and it was her mother that had held a shocked Hermione’s hand in the doctor’s office as the obstetrician took her self-delusion, tossed it right in the bin, and confirmed her very real pregnancy.


End file.
